


Wicked Grace

by chicagoartnerd



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Tranquil Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicagoartnerd/pseuds/chicagoartnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric doesn't dream. Which on one hand is a blessing as the nightmares don't haunt him while he sleeps. But on the other hand it makes getting a hold of him while being trapped in the Fade a pain in the ass. Hawke reaches out for Lavellan instead and whole gang return to Adamant. But things don't go according to plan. </p><p>Nothing is ever simple when it comes to Kit Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Varric thought they had all gone through the rift at the same time. He had been wrong.

Alistair and Shi’an stumbled through a mere half heart beat after the Seeker and Sparkler but Hawke wasn’t with them. He knew instantly. Everyone was cheering, they must have been but the only thing he heard was the sound of the space Kit’s absence left around them. He had to say it. The question clawed its way out his throat and somehow his voice didn’t break.

“Where’s Hawke?”

The Inquisitor’s face might have even mirrored his own in agony but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he was staring at the empty spot where the rift had been over her shoulder. He heard the click of Lavellan swallowing hard as she shook her head. All of the sounds of the joyous crowd rushed in and boxed his ears. It was like being slapped with an armored glove. He hung his head and felt Shi’an’s small hand grasp hard onto his shoulder and squeeze. He couldn’t look up from his grime encrusted boots. She was actually gone. Fuck.

All the scheming and plotting he had done, eagerly sacrificing his own much loved freedom, to keep her from getting dragged into this whole end of the world mess had been for less than nothing. He might have stopped the Seeker from getting Hawke blown up at the Temple of Sacred Ashes but after Corypheus crashed their whole Breach Closing Bash he had to get her involved. Because it was The Right Thing To Do. And he and Hawke both knew it.

That didn’t mean he didn’t have to do a lot of drinking before he wrote that letter. She was a big girl, even wore big girl magical pants and everything, if anyone could handle herself during the demon infested cock up they found themselves in it was her.

At least that what he told the evil voice in his head that whispered that this was how the hero died. They always gave their lives valiantly to stop the end of the world, or change it for the better, or whatever other nonsense people liked to read in his serials. If he was the one telling Hawke’s tale then he had wanted to give her a proper happy ending. Not this.

That insidious voice, that he drowned out with a stiff ale and a good story about a plucky tavern girl who saved the town from a series of masked bandits one after the other all while falling in love with a traveling bard, told him it was his fault again.

Carver dying in the Deep Roads was his fault, red lyrium, him again, getting Hawke involved with Anders and Isabela, yup all him. Leandra hadn’t been his fault and Blondie blowing up the Chantry also not his fault but everything else was not looking up in his favor.

And yet she had put up with all of this and had still came back for more. There were times when he thought he might have to beat her away with a stick, or possibly Bianca. That’s how much Hawke made everyone else’s problems her problems. A sharp tongued babe with a heart of gold and silverite balls to match. It practically wrote itself. No wonder he had fallen head over ass for her. Now the worse had happened.

And the stupidest memories of her kept crawling up out of the depths of the hole inside of him. That one time Isabela started singing an old Rivaini sea shanty about a particularly tenacious venereal disease and when she got to the chorus Ander’s joined in changing the main character’s name to Isabela’s. Causing Hawke to snort the Hanged Man’s questionable ale out her nose. Her eyes ran so much they turned blood red and she swore up and down that everything smelled like boiled boots for weeks after the incident. That’s what she got for actually drinking the swill in the Hanged Man to start with.

Or that time in Darktown when they got into a massive all out brawl with a Carta cell and Hawke used all of standing water of questionable origins to turn the ground under them into an ice slick. Everyone had gone flailing or falling except Hawke who used the blades on her boots to skate around and pick off the remaining thugs effortlessly.

He had never told that story because it was too ridiculous for anyone to believe and because he was hoarding the image of her gracefully skating in between dying lumps made of assassins and cutting down Carta dwarves with her staff blade like she did this everyday.

Which he had pretty much spent every day with her so he knew for a fact she hadn’t done that more than once. And then the Qunari invaded. Although it took Kirkwall three more years after that to explode. And then the whole world started to go to shit. Since that they hadn’t seen much of each other. Not for lack of wanting to but more for mutual bodily safety.

The whole of that clusterfuck wasn’t all on Blondie, even if he lit the fuse. Knight Commander Meredith was the one smoking a red lyrium pipe while sitting on a powder keg. Which she wouldn’t have even known existed if it wasn’t for him dragging Hawke with him and Bartrand into the Deep Roads.

Who knows, things were pretty bad with the mages and templars, maybe they would have come to a head but it would have been years from now. Instead he and Hawke were smack dab in the middle of chaos. Regardless Kirkwall was their city.

She had ruled in the hearts of the citizenry and he ruled their imaginations and some of their pockets. Together, along with their merry band of apostates, ex-slaves, crotchety guard captains, and despicable rogues they had formed a family that couldn’t be beat.

When everything had went to shit in Kirkwall it had been a hard blow to all of them, no pun intended. Whatever they had together had disintegrated and scattered them all to seven winds. There was no doubt in his mind they were all still friends, even after the crap Blondie pulled, and yet the city that held them together no longer really existed. Kirkwall was still standing but it wasn’t their kingdom to rule anymore. And now their Champion was dead.

There was an awkward bubble of silence around him on their way back to Skyhold from Adamant. Everyone was celebrating except the people who had walked into the Fade with him. No one in that group was smiling even though everybody else certainly thought they had a reason to.

The Inquisitor had saved the day once again. Somehow he had found himself another big damn hero to follow around Thedas. Except this one might have been some sort of prophet, which shouldn’t have made a difference but it did.

He just couldn’t relate to her as closely as he had Hawke. It wasn’t because she lacked a fun personality, her tongue was almost as forked as Kit’s, it was that he hadn’t known her before she became The Herald. If he had things might have been different between them. But as it was he tried to be a friend while secretly holding her up on an oddly angled pedestal and at a distance.

Shi’an Lavellan had walked physically through the Fade itself, a second time, in order to defeat a legion of demons the Grey Warden’s and Corypheus had summoned, kicked the ass of the literal embodiment of the whole world’s deepest darkest fears, and then managed to haul most of them back in once piece. Why wasn’t she smiling? It probably wasn’t about Hawke. She didn’t really know her. He wasn’t going to flatter himself and think it was on his behalf.

Sometimes Varric wanted to ask her about her past but he never did. With any other friend he would have but as things stood she was The Herald of Andraste. Shi’an was basically a walking example of his God and he was watching her heroics as they happened first hand. But he saw the way she looked when she thought she was alone. Lavellan had been grieving long before she had woken up with that glowing mark on her hand surrounded by a leveled mountain and a sea of burning corpses.

Maybe he was making the same hollow expression he had seen on her face because when she dared to meet his eyes they were haunted.

Sparkler actually offered his condolences with what Varric assumed was the most sincere expression he had ever worn. It was almost awe inspiring. Cassandra’s face was even more pinched than usual when she tried to comfort him and failed epically, which would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been because Hawke was dead. Maker’s breath.

Kit was really gone.

It was even worse because Hawke had watched everyone she loved die on her. She had fought tooth and nail to do the right thing, to help people, and to not lose sight of herself while she did it. She had always had a quip just lurking on the tip of her tongue, she took all that Kirkwall and the Free Marches could throw at her and she laughed. She kicked so much ass that the Divine herself had sent Cassandra Pentaghast to recruit her to be the Inquisitor even before the whole Conclave debacle. If she had told Varric that was the reason he was being shadily interrogated then maybe he would have told the Seeker where she was, maybe. Then maybe Hawke wouldn’t be dead.

Oh. Oh fuck. 

If he was being truly honest with himself the fear demon had him nailed and pegged. If he hadn’t dragged Hawke down into the Deep Roads with Bartrand then the world wouldn’t be full of red lyrium wreaking havoc and killing people.

Even though he knew all the evil in the world wasn’t because of his ambition he still had a hand in it. Too many other people had stood still and done nothing while brutal bastards where a loud to play around with people’s lives. Kit had suffered so much with a smile.

He had known her for almost ten years. So much had happened, yet he had never told her. They had both come close a couple times. But those moments had always passed them by. He could never fully commit to the words it seemed. Bianca held his heart and his tongue, at least that was what he told himself while he was falling in love with The Champion of Kirkwall. And now he never would.

This wasn’t one of his stories so none of it was fair, just, right. Life, fate, the Maker, whoever, hadn’t been particularly good to him when it came to the people he loved but this was the worse thing he could imagine. The new top regret on his long unwritten list.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Somehow the Inquisitor had emptied the great hall in Skyhold of all the milling nobles and other guests. That left him alone to sit in his favorite chair and stare at the flames burning hot and unforgiving in the fireplace. It was true he wanted to be alone and yet it was unbearable.

He was used to being surrounded by friends full of drink and tales so tall it would make your neck hurt just listening. But these last few years had been brutal.

Besides a few notable jaunts with Hawke and Isabela, overall the people he called family had been lost to him. When he joined the Inquisition he hadn’t expected to find a new group of steadfast companions and yet here he was. There wasn’t anyone here he wouldn’t call a friend, even if he wouldn’t invite all of them to drink with him.

At the end of this they would have to all sit down and have a another game of Wicked Grace. If only so Curly could win back some of his dignity. Watching Josephine literally beat the pants off their Commander had been a highlight of his time in Skyhold.

All of that seemed like a dull memory now, like he was looking at some old manuscript he hadn't dusted off in years. The fire even reminded him of her. The way she would sheath her arms in spinning wheels of flame to cut through a group of coterie assholes. Okay he was pretty far gone. Damn.

He coughed and turned in chair to face away from the crackling logs.

As he did so he got to watch Lavellan enter and sit down next to him.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to speak they both waited patiently for him to speak. Maybe she didn’t think he would but either way she was going to sit vigil with him for Hawke. That alone meant more to him than any words she could have said.

They didn’t even have a body to burn, no ashes to scatter into the Frostbacks in a solemn ceremony to recommend her spirit to the Maker, rows and rows of mourners from all over Thedas come to pay their respects to The Champion. Not that Hawke would have wanted all that. She probably would have preferred that he’d taken them to highest part of Kirkwall’s battlements and cast her remains into the Waking Sea. The start and now end of her journey.

When he finally looked at Lavellan he thought he might choke on the words, that they wouldn’t make it past the gross lump of his heart in his throat. As it turned out he couldn’t shut up. It was agony to be trapped with his own thoughts. So he told Shi’an every story of Hawke he could think of. They had had so many but not enough.

Like the time Gamlen had gotten on the wrong side of the Carta and so they sent bruisers to Hawke's estate in hightown. As soon as they busted down her front door she invited them all to play a hand of Wicked Grace with the rest of us. The city guard showed up a couple rounds in and took them away but a few of them even became regulars at their Thursday night game in the Hanged Man. That was just the kind of woman Hawke was.

He told her about first meeting her in the street in Hightown, about all the adventures they went on to accumulate their little band of misfits, he even told her about what happened with Bartrand after the Deep Roads.

He all but admitted to The Herald of bleeding Andraste that he loved Kathyrn Wymarc Hawke. That he had never told Kit how he had felt. And now he never would be able to. Big regret, meet bigger regret.

All through it Shi’an listened respectfully. Her face giving nothing away until the sun started to peek through the high stained glass windows at the head of the hall and his voice finally started to give out from fatigue.

“She.. She sounds so amazing. I mean the way you described her in ‘The Tale of Champion’ talked about how heroic she was but not what kind of person she was. But to hear the way you talk about her I wish I had spoken with her more.”

“There is something though. I considered not telling you but you have a right to know. Before she attacked that demon by herself she said, ‘Tell Varric I’m sorry and to go find my Knight of Sacrifice.’”

He sucked in a quick breath at that revelation.

Damn Hawke was a clever cheeky bastard even posthumously it seemed.

The Inquisitor didn’t ask him what she had meant by that last bit or why it was suddenly urgent that he go to the room in the tower that Hawke was staying in.

Shi’an let him go with an understanding nod as he practically bolted out of hall and up the closest flight of stairs. The door wasn’t locked and he almost fell to his knees as soon as he entered it. It smelled just like her. The metallic raw tang of magic and the summery citrus smell of whatever cream she used to protect her leathers was so heavy in the air he almost choked on it. He hadn’t cried yet.

He didn’t want to but tears started to blur his vision as he searched through her rucksack for the tell-tail maroon crushed velvet bag. He upended it desperately on the floor and a deck of Wicked Grace cards came tumbling out, along with a small scroll of parchment. At least she hadn’t written him something on just the back of one cards. He carefully unrolled it and sank to the floor, his back hitting the foot of her bed hard. Kit’s snaking and heavy scrawl greeted him. He had to breathe hard through his nose and wipe his eyes with his duster sleeve before he could even make out the words.

_Dear Varric,_

_If you are reading this now it’s either because you like nosing around my unmentionables, in which case how naughty I’ll have to punish you later, or because I’m dead. Either way this is an upsetting situation, albeit for different reasons._

_I could write about all the things I wanted to say to you and everyone else from Kirkwall, to set my affairs in order, maybe deliver one final bit of advice to the Inquisitor, Maker help her, but I don’t know if that could fit on a single piece of parchment. Not even if I went on both sides. So instead I’m just going to say I’m sorry. You know me better than anyone still living so you don’t have to imagine all the things I have to be sorry for. Although none of that matters now. For someone who loves you I certainly don’t have a way with words. Keep in mind I’m trying but I know how horrible this all sounds. Makers balls this is not how a goodbye should go. I don’t want to be writing any of this but it seemed like a good idea while I was drinking alone waiting for us to leave for Adamant. I’m sorry I never said I loved you. Really said it. Never kissed you. Fuck._

_This is actually quite cruel even if you don’t feel the same, another apology? So I guess what I’m really apologizing for is having to write this letter. For dying before I sorted myself out enough to do right by you. I loved Father, Mother, Bethany, and Carver and when they all died you and the rest of the gang were the only family I had left. So tell them I’m sorry and that I love them too. There’s a map on the back of this. It leads to cache of money and documents that will be useful to helping you and the Inquisition. Know that at least while I lost my new family I am now at peace with my old one. Probably. I have literally no idea how that shit works. Again not very comforting, way to go Hawke._   
_Love,_   
_Kit Hawke_

_P.S. “Swords and Shields” is awful ( If Aveline has read it you’re a dead dwarf. I’m pretty sure you know I’m lying when I say I don’t read your stuff. I was away when you first published it and then the world went to shit so I didn’t get to tell you) but I love it. Please finish it._

Varric slammed his fist against the heavy wood of the bed and tried to gasp for a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He started to mumble “no” and couldn’t stop repeating it. For someone so enamored with words there were none for this feeling.

He eventually stopped mumbling incoherently and the tears cracked and dried on his cheeks but he didn’t leave. Instead he gingerly climbed up onto her bed and laid his head down on the pillow that smelled too much like her. Mercifully he fell into a blessedly heavy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan ponders her own mortality and meets some unexpected company while dreaming.

Shi’an Lavellan couldn’t sleep.

For the first time since she had gotten the mark she was afraid.

Oh she had certainly experienced fear in past battles when a heavily armored red templar captain came charging at her but she fought through it. This was different. The demon of fear in the Fade had been right. She was better off without her memories of the Conclave, better off without her memories of the Fade. She suddenly understood that furtive nervous look in people’s eyes.

They all thought she was going to die.

If she was being honest with herself she couldn’t blame them. History, after all, was on their side. The Hero of Ferelden, Revenna Mahariel of the Sabrae clan, may Falon’Din watch over her spirit, died killing the Archdemon. Kathryn Hawke died fighting the fear demon in the Fade. Felandaris, even bloody Andraste had died fighting the Tevinter Imperium two thousand years ago. Thedas might have a great many heroic women but it appeared they all died before their times. That was why everyone around her seemed so worried. It was probably why Solas had been keeping his distance. As much as that kiss meant to her, she had never felt anything like it while awake or asleep, he had pushed back hard against taking it further. There wasn’t much else she could do besides avoid him and wait and see. Cowardly but a type of self preservation in its own right.

Now Shi’an was afraid for her life. Mythal strike her down, she probably should have been afraid for it much earlier. She wasn’t scared when she dropped half a mountain on herself to try and bury Corypheus, she hadn’t had time to feel much of anything except righteous fury. She had time to regret it when she woke up with three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. But even though she almost froze solid trying to find the other in the mountains she didn’t recall being afraid. All she was thinking about was her friends. And all the people in Haven actually. Somehow they had become her new clan and as Keeper, well Inquisitor, it was her job to protect all of them. They were all ma da’len’en. Her children.

After settling the throne of Orlais, Briala and Celene having reconciled, and defeating the fear demon at Adamant, she had more time to think. To worry.  
So for several days after their return to Skyhold she had been pacing the battlements like a prowling cat and nervously braiding and unbraiding several strands of her hair.

If anyone noticed the hunted look on her face it might have been what deterred them from the traditional greeting of “Inquisitor” because she was surrounded by a fog of empty silence. Much like the one they had returned in.

Shi’an hadn’t seen much of Varric but she did notice he had moved into Hawke’s old quarters. All of the others seemed off as well. Even her friends that didn’t really get along with Varric had mentioned him in conversation with her. If her own mortality was keeping her up at night then all of the worries that poured in about her friends fueled her daytime haze.

Shi’an climbed the highest tower in Skyhold, the top of the newly raised mage tower, and looked across the castle courtyard at the Frostbacks all around. Stars beyond counting hung loftily above her and what once gave her comfort in their number now made her feel small and insignificant. Not that that was a bad thing. Many would argue it was a good for the Inquisitor to not think too highly of herself. But all it was really doing was making her feel alone.

She supposed that maybe if she worried about everyone else then her thoughts would stop going to her seemingly inevitable death fighting the forces of evil. Varric was the first to come to mind. After what had happened in the Fade he was devastated. From what she had observed of he and Hawke on missions and in the Herald’s Rest they seemed to have had a relationship that was like that of brother and sister or blood bound friends. Yet he mourned her like a lover, like a husband would his wife.

It hurt an old wound in her heart to look at his blank face because she knew what that mask felt like to wear but she did her best to offer him whatever support she could. She had yet to tell anyone here about Talon. A part of her didn’t want to.

The Shi’an that had traveled to the Conclave and the one that had stepped out of the Fade were completely different people. She had let her old self die along with her beloved and decided to start again. Shi’an did wonder what Hawke’s cryptic final message meant to him but she had the grace not to ask. She would have given anything to have said goodbye to Talon one last time instead of receiving the news of her death on a pair of swift black wings.

She eventually made her way back to the Rotunda.

The frescos called to her, partly for their beauty and partly because if she touched them just right the Fade would flow through her fingers and she could see him painting them. Studiously bent over them, blue eye shining in concentration as art flowed from the trowel at his fingertips. But to her chagrin he was still awake at his reading desk. Having to explain why she was wandering into his study in the middle of the night was going to be painful.

Normally he was asleep and eagerly exploring the Fade by now. She knew from first hand experience. He seemed agitated as he made a disgusted face at whatever he was drinking out of his cup, rashvine tea from the strong fermented scent of it. When he saw her his face immediately relaxed but she didn’t miss the flash of worry in his eyes. She smiled and asked if his tea was alright. He brushed her off saying all tea was vile stuff. Shi’an was going to ask him why he was drinking it then but he interrupted her.

“Something terrible has happened but I don’t want to add another burden to your shoulders lethallan. It looks like you have far too many as it is.”

She set her feet wide, drew her shoulders back resolutely, and stared him down.

“I can handle it. What’s happened now?”

He shook his head sadly and looked at the raging purple mage light lamp burning on the wall to their left.

“It’s one of my friends. They have been summoned against their will and bound to a mage. But I will try and go take care of it. They’re trapped somewhere in the Exalted Plains.”

He was talking about a spirit, one he had no doubt met in his journeys in the Fade. They were his family. As much as Solas refused to talk about who his people were, as artfully as he dodged all questions of his past, that much was clear to her. He cared about them, visited them, spoke with them, they were his clan. Or whatever was left of it. She shivered.

Ever since coming to Skyhold she had tried to learn more about the spirits of the Fade. About the Fade itself, and with the help of her Trainer and the key on her hand she had learned many new things. Cole was also strangely insightful but whenever she asked Solas it always seemed like he was holding back. Like he knew exactly what she was looking to learn but was too afraid to teach it. That could be said of their entire relationship.

If you could call it that at this point.

Shi’an longed to touch him again, this time while wearing her body. That was neither here nor there now, although it was another worry to keep her up at night. He met her eyes and the concern was obvious in their scrunched corners.

“Are you sleeping alright?”

Her laugh was hollow.

“No. That would not describe anything I’ve been doing. As for your friend let’s go help them. We’ll leave for that blight cursed place as soon as I can get away. Josephine has me meeting some Antivan diplomats tomorrow, one of them speaks for the Crows apparently.”

He stood and walked around the desk he was sitting at. He reached out to touch her arm reassuringly but stopped before he touched her, just a fraction above her skin. She could still feel his hand there though, tingling against her. Their eyes met and there was an awkward moment of tension before he pulled back a step and she deflated. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you know any secret tricks to falling asleep fast?”

Mythal’enast. She was a coward after all. Wasn’t she the one who had kissed him first?

The things she wanted to say to him. Do to him. And time and time again she faltered. Something about him gave her greater pause then she had ever taken for any previous lover.

You leaped, your lives were short so you either were or weren’t with someone. It was, usually that simple for her. He changed that inside her, made her doubt her own intentions and that was why she didn’t push him as hard as she wanted to. The worst part was she could see the same doubt in his eyes. Like every time he looked at her face he wasn’t sure it was her he wanted. That was what hurt the most.

He must have noticed that whatever charge had been building between them had faded because he stepped back around his desk and took out a book from inside it.

“I doubt this is what you had in mind but Varric lent it to me a few night ago. I would offer you a sleep potion but they inhibit dreaming and restful slumber, which you need.”

She took the giant tome and almost burst out laughing at the cover. It was a history of the dwarven merchant guild’s genealogy in Orzammar. As it was she choked out a snort of laughter and grinned up at him. The small quirk of his lips drew her eyes and she couldn’t help licking her lips in response. There was heat between them, it was almost like a physical wall. This time she was the one to run away.

Taking a step back out towards the lit up door she thanked him for the “bit of light reading” before fleeing. Shi’an could feel his eyes on the back of her neck and she had to fight to keep her breathing and her retreating steps even. Getting back to her quarters only confirmed what she suspected.

The mirror in her boudoir revealed she was still flushed bright red and looked white like wraith for someone with a normally dark and healthy complexion. Not sleeping did nothing for her looks, the deep gouges under her eyes were evidence enough of that fact, and yet he still desired her. That much they both knew. So why weren’t either of them brave enough to jump?

The book was in fact even more boring than Solas had originally hinted. She briefly wondered if all her companions passed big boring books about their respective cultures back and forth to tease each other before her eyes started to flicker shut. She made it the line of House Cadash before her head fell forward onto her lap. After that she moved to her bed and laid down on her side.

Sleep must have come for her because Skyhold looked different, everything was slightly green and when she looked at the sky she saw not the sun but a massive Breach, nothing was falling out of it, instead floating stones made a spiral staircase up into its nexus.

Shi’an was in the Fade once more.

She broke out in a cold shivering sweat as the skittering of chintin legs greeted her ears. That wasn’t right. This was her fortress, her hallowed ground. They shouldn’t be able to trespass here. Time to find her way out.

Maybe Solas was in this place as well.

That thought snapped her back to herself. He was a somniari, she was one too now, so perhaps they could dream together. If she could find him lucidly dreaming here then he could offer her aid. She had a gut feeling that she was going to really need it.

As Shi’an wound her way down the guard tower she could hear a loud thumping, almost like the beat of a great heart. Steeling herself she slipped off the stairs leading to the battlements towards the great hall. To her shock when she peered inside it wasn’t empty. What looked like hundreds of people, all wearing masks far stranger than those at the Orlesian Court, milled about. A light and airy music danced between them although there didn’t appear to be any musicians to make it. The closer she got to the guests the more the details in their costumes faded and blurred into blindingly bright colors and a sensation almost like rubbing a cat the wrong way round.

As she stumbled through the crowd, dodging their iridescent dresses and jackets, her feet unconsciously carried her towards the throne at the end of the hall because sitting atop it was exactly who she had been searching for.

Shi’an froze and stared at him.

He was clad all in black fur and leather, feathers and green glowing stones dripped from the wrap at his shoulders like hundreds of vicious little eyes.His skin was a dark and earthy brown and his black locks were braided with the teeth and jawbones of small carnivorous animals. Unlike the others dancing he wore no mask.

Startled, she looked down at herself in order to avoid his sweeping glaze. He hadn’t noticed her presence yet and for some reason she suddenly wanted to keep it that way. Shi’an was dressed entirely in plain white halla leathers that glowed against her brown skin. And although she also wasn’t wearing a mask a wreath of antlers crowned her head. When she moved to touch their points her hand sliced right through them. The small yelp of surprise caught everyone around her attention’s.

She looked up through her lashes just in time to see Solas turn to glare at her. He looked furious for a brief blink but then something else came into his stormy eyes. A much more melancholy emotion.

The party around them began to break apart around them as the figures disappeared with threads of blue and green smoke. She glanced away from him for a second to try and see where the others had went. When she looked back they were completely alone and she was met by the Solas she knew. He was now the one she had seen everyday in the waking world and he looked worried.

“Why are you here?”

Wasn’t that the question. She wanted to ask him much the same. What she really wanted to ask him about what had just been happening in the hall, why he looked so different? Eerily powerful, there was something terrifying about him that made her uneasy. Just what exactly had she walked in on? A memory? A dream? Maybe a mixture of both, she didn’t have the first idea.

But instead she heard the scurrying of minor fears and became momentarily distracted. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. They were both speaking Elvhen now. Fluently.

“I’m not sure but there is a fear demon near. Can’t you hear its persistent children scurrying without fear?”

Solas looked like he was about to chastise her but then his expression darkened and he pursed his lips.

“This is sacred ground and both of us should be at the height of our power. There is no reason for any untoward spirit to make us cower.”

Yet he didn’t look convinced. That made Shi’an’s chest coil even tighter against her lungs with dread. Something was coming. She felt rather than saw Solas come to her side. His presence was comforting but also disjointed, like he was bigger than he was while they were here. All around her, cloying, touching, pushing against her own spirit.

This wasn’t at all like when they had traveled to Haven in the Fade. She wanted to fight him all of sudden, lash out with her power and push him off of her. It was like being held too tightly. Her head ached.

Something was wrong. They both stared at the large closed oak doors at the end of the hall and waited as they felt whatever it was come closer.

The doors groaned loud enough to shake the floor beneath them as they were flung open so forcefully that she had to fight the urge to take a step back. A figure was running desperately to escape a cascade of minor fears shaped like hideous blighted spiders.

“I hate to interupt but a little help would go a long way here! Or you know, take your time, I’ve been doing this for weeks so what’s a few more minutes.”

Hawke’s voice snapped Shi’an out of her surprised inaction and she felt the anchor flare to life in the veins of her palm. She was a rift mage and although she wasn’t physically in the Fade she still held a great deal of power there.

Now was the time to throw her weight around. Before Solas could stop her she rushed towards Hawke and flung her hand out pushing her will at the demons. They shrieked and clicked in agony as they were flash burned into nothing but putrid glowing ashes. Hawke stumbled but caught herself at the last second with her stave before she barreled into Shi’an.

“Maferath’s hairy balls it’s about damned time! Anders always said the Fade would lead you to your desires if they were strong enough but it took the fucking scenic route this time!”

Instead of embracing Hawke like she truly wanted to she held her hand up in warning. The Fade was full of spirits and this could just be another one trying to get under her skin. Or into her skin as the case may be. Hawke seemed to realize this and took a step back appraisingly. She looked at Solas behind her and raised her eyebrows. His face was impassive as he addressed Shi’an.

“This is not the Hawke you lost at Adamant.”

Hawke scowled mightily at him and crossed her arms defensively as Shi’an tensed into an offensive stance.

“Well he’s right about that. I’m not actually Hawke but that’s just semantics not the important part. And before you go banishing me to the fringes of the void, please hear me out!”

She didn’t relax her stance but she didn’t blast the thing masquerading as her dead companion away into smoldering spirit dust either. It seemed to take this as a sign to continue.

“Look you don’t have much time but Hawke sent me to find you, the real life in the flesh still trapped in the bloody Fade, Hawke. She’s alive but just barely. Fear has been chasing her into various rabbit holes for the last couple weeks and she’s just about at her limit.”

Before she could ask Solas spoke to her.

“I do not need to tell you to take the words of spirits with caution. I am not sure of this one’s intention but I doubt it is telling the truth. To survive that long physically in the Fade would be nearly impossible.”

Again the thing in Hawke’s shape shot him a sour look but addressed Shi’an.

“I am telling the truth as it turns out. Tell Varric that Hawke’s sorry she missed their anniversary and that his present is in the herb garden under the black wellstone. If that doesn’t convince you nothing will. You have to hurry though. She was sure it had to be you because you’re the only one who can physically bring people in and out of the Fade. Good luck. Oh and word to the wise don’t always trust what that one says.”

With a last jerk of its thumb at Solas and a wink it started to glow. Hawke’s form melted away in a sea of golden light and the hooded figure of a spirit of compassion took its place. It took one last look at both of them before shaking its head and drifting back out the open doors of Skyhold’s great hall.

She watched it go and felt disquieted by its departure. When she turned back to look at Solas he was pacing stiffly back and forth on the stairs leading up to the throne. As she approached he slowed and then turned to face her.

“Here is not the best place for this discussion.”

She was about to ask where they should go when he loudly whispered that it was time for her to wake up. It was like being plunged into a pool of cold water filled with needle shards of ice. Shi’an jerked awake in her bed, sitting up with a strangled gasp. Her sheets were tangled around her sweat soaked chest, gooseflesh covered her arms and thighs. She still felt cold. There was only one thing she could do. She had to go find Varric.

He wasn’t in his quarters on the battlements or sitting at his usual seat at the banquet table in front of one the great fire places. She tried the tavern next but when the search there was fruitless as well she thought about going to find Solas instead. The warning of the spirit was all that stopped her from doing so. Don’t always trust what that one says.

She couldn’t remember precisely what he had looked like during that strange masquerade, the rest of the dream was dreadfully stark and clear, but the few impressions that remained of him were foreboding.

Instead she found her way to Hawke’s quarters next to the atrium tower. When Hawke had selected them she had joked about how all the raucous crow cawing reminded her of Kirkwall. The door was unlocked but it was what she saw inside that made her stop in the doorway. Varric was sleeping on Hawke’s bed, his body curled up tightly around her pillow.

Swallowing the lump of fresh grief the sight gave her she slowly made her way to his side tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He started awake but after his eyes adjusted and he noticed it was her he stiffly sat up.

“I take it that it’s something dire and possibly world-changingly important?”

She nodded gravely. He muttered ‘it always is’ under his breath before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hopping onto the floor. She gestured for him to follow her and they swiftly made their way downstairs.

It took her slightly by surprise that he didn’t ask her where they were going and why. Apparently he trusted her judgement enough to believe that she wouldn’t have disturbed him in such a private moment unless it was truly important. That was oddly touching to her. She cared for Varric. He was one of her first companions, one of the first people to be kind truly kind to her even before she had proved her “worth.” So she did really want to help him in any way she could. And the biggest thing that would set him right at the moment would be proving Hawke was still alive.

Even if he did trust her greatly he did falter a little when she walked briskly into the center of the garden and stopped at the well to give it a quick once over.

There was only one black stone in the well’s base and as she picked at it the mortar crumbled out of the way and the stone came free in her hand. Behind it there was a fairly deep hole and she quickly stuck her hand in and pulled out something smooth, cool, and round with handles.

When she got it into the sunlight she could see it was a fired pot of some sort, she turned it around in her hand until she felt something on the bottom. It had a makers’ mark that looked like two very crudely drawn goats in a compromising position. She handed it to Varric and tried to keep her face a serious as possible but inside she was all but screaming with excitement. Varric took it from her with a large heavy hand and a raised eyebrow. As soon as his fingers found the indentation of the maker’s mark his face froze. He knew what was in the jar. She was practically vibrating.

“What is it?”

Instead of answering her he threw questions back at her.

“Where did you get this? Why in Andraste’s name did you bury it out here? What’s going on?”

He said the last part suspiciously like he suspected something very mean of her. She wasn’t going to get upset about that though because this was the first good news she’d had to give to anyone in a long time.

Congratulations! Enasal! Your best friend, and possibly bellanaris vehnan’an, is alive afterall! Sylaise bless your household on this day! Or something along those lines instead of calling upon Falon’Din to watch over their spirits like she had been doing for people as of late.

Her clan saw him as the humans did the Maker or at least they invoked the Maker to watch over their souls. To her it was much the same thing. Who was to say that this spirit of “The Maker” who contacted the somniari Andraste was not one of the Elvhen Gods who had been sealed away in the Fade by the trickery of Fen’Harel.

She couldn’t know about any of that for sure, no one alive could, but what she did know was that she needed to tell Varric the good news and get the rest of her companions together to return to Adamant or at least the Fade around it.

“Hawke says it’s your anniversary present and that she’s sorry she missed it.”

Varric looked down at the pot with its wax sealed top again and cradled it like one would a small child.

“It’s a jar of lubricant.”

She had not been expecting that. Shi’an blushed so brightly it made her skin turn purple and Varric must have immediately realized how it sounded because he coughed and muttered.

“Maker’s beard Herald! Not that kind, well not really! It’s for Bianca. It’s the only variety I can find that doesn’t clog up her firing mechanisms. There’s a senile old lech of mechanist in Lowtown who is the only one who makes it. She must have been saving it for all this time because there’s no way she’d snuck back into Kirkwall.”

He stroked the jar one last time before sharply looking up at her.

“What do you mean Hawke ‘says?’”

Shi’an’s grin was the first genuine one she had been able to give in months.

“We’re going to go get her. She’s trapped in the Fade. Dwarves can’t dream otherwise she would have contacted you directly I’m sure. Last night while I was asleep she sent a messenger to Solas and I.”

Several emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession but he settled on an anxious and distressed scowl.

“Maker’s bleeding gums! Why haven’t we left already then?”

“I had to be sure the spirit was telling the truth and not trying to lure us all physically back into the Fade. It told me where to find this gift for you as proof it was telling the truth. Now we need to get everyone else and head back to Adamant. Maybe bring the Chargers along to tear the horrid place down after we’re done.”

Morrigan, who had been sitting and reading with her son at the stone pavillion nearby chose that moment to enter the conversation.

“A noble cause but I do not think your quest will prove to be that simple.”

Varric’s head snapped up to her and he looked like he was about to tell her off when Shi’an put her hand heavily on his shoulder and gestured with the other for Morrigan to continue.

“Although you are coming along quite impressively as a rift mage am I correct in assuming that you opened a tear in the veil at Adamant completely by accident to save yourself from certain death?”

Shi’an pinked up. She was right. As embarrassing as it was she had no idea how she had transported all of them physically into the Fade. She had done it entirely on desperate instinct before. Morrigan took her uncomfortable silence as confirmation and continued.

“Since that is the case purposefully trying to open a rift in the Fade in order to travel there without knowing precisely how could end up causing something very much akin to the Breach. Which I am sure you would not wish to do. My best advice, as macabre as it might seem, is to leave the Champion to her own fate.”

Shi’an was glad she still hand her hand on Varric’s shoulder because he tried to lurch forward and knock Morrigan straight on her ass. As it was she managed to hold him back and zap him with a small jolt of paralyzing magic, not enough to freeze him but just enough to warn him off moving. He stopped but looked absolutely livid. More so than she had ever seen him, even during his previous fight with Cassandra.

Shi’an cleared her throat and then raised her voice over the murmurs that had begun to travel around the rest of the garden.

“No. We will retrieve Hahren Hawke. You, Solas, and Dorian will help me do it safely and we will leave as soon as Dennet can have our mounts ready. That is my final judgement on the matter as Hawke’s companion and as Inquisitor.”

She felt Varric go limp under her hand and all the crackling electricity that had been building around them vanished. Morrigan sighed and rolled her golden eyes but nodded her head slightly and acquiesced. Shi’an gently removed her hand and he looked up at her with a relieved grin on his face.

“Her name is Kathyrn, Kit if you want to get friendly, by the way.”

Shi’an gave him a crooked smile for that.

“I am aware. Hahren is a title of respect for an elder or wiser, like Messere.”

Varric just shook his head and looked at the ground, his shoulders shaking. At first she thought he might crying but when he looked up she saw that he was trying really hard not to burst out laughing.

“Hawke would cackle in your face if you ever called her wise. Maker, she’s done it again!”

He punched the air and to Shi’an he looked ten years younger. As she motioned for him to follow her she couldn’t stop her own smile. And truthfully she didn’t want to. They left together to go find the others. On the way out of the garden she grabbed an Agent who had been listening conspicuously on a nearby garden bench and sent them to tell Dennet of their departure and their provisioner supply needs.

Surprisingly Solas put up more of a fight than Morrigan did about returning to Adamant. His argument was much the same as hers though. The Inquisitor was messing about with magic beyond her ken and all of that.

He also bitterly pointed out that his friend needed saving just as much as Varric’s. Their fight got truly heated when she mentioned that Hawke was alive whereas the spirit he wished to rescue was not. The rotunda practically frosted over after that. He agreed to help her but made it clear he was only doing so to stop something like another breach event from occurring. Even if she hoped it was also for her own safety, things had begun to fall further apart between them.

Neither Solas nor Morrigan seemed to realize the most important fact, that Hawke was part of her clan now. And although she could not protect them all for the whole time they were part of the Inquisition it was her sacred duty to try. When she explained it to Solas that way his expression broke and he carefully asked her to leave.

Shi’an had wanted to yell at him, to pull him close and hug him too tightly, to run off and cry. But instead she had nodded stiffly and left.

When she had volunteered to stay behind at Haven she had discovered he hated self sacrifice and whenever she made to do just that he became furious. Despite that he had stood by her side to help save her from certain destruction on more than one occasion.

It was disheartening, even Dorain seemed to be siding with her decision to return to the Fade more as a curiosity than anything else. She was quick to recruit Bull and his Chargers, who though he was not-so-secretly terrified of demons, knew what she was doing was right. He had given up his entire way of life for his men, sacrificed the good of the Qun for his crew who had become his true people. He understood.

Cassandra and Cullen on the other hand seemed torn. They both agreed that going back for Hawke was the right thing to do but disagreed that the Inquisitor should take such a risk as to enter the Fade again.

Eventually, after several hours of arguing in the war room, she convinced all of them to let her leave.

Varric had all but sprinted out ahead of their party while they were stocking the supply ponies. It felt like a second chance and if there was anything Shi’an was good at it was taking hold of those when they came rolling across the floor towards her.

It was time to return to Adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the way that this is breaking down so far is Varric chapter, Lavellan, Hawke, Varric, Lavellan, and Hawke. I'm almost done with the whole fic so there's that. This thing has been kicking around my brain for over a month and its become a monster sigh. 
> 
> I love black Fen'Harel inspired by the dreads in his original concept art, hence when Shi'an gets a glimpse into his past that's what she sees. Also the Skyhold Fade scene was totally a Labyrinth reference, guilty as charged.  
> Translations for the elvish are as follows:  
> lethallan: blood sister (kin, a female member of one's people)  
> enasal: joyful relief, relief in joy of triumphing over sadness  
> bellanaris vehnan'an: literally place of heart's eternity, or place where the heart dwells eternally ( basically Hawke is Varric's forever girl)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jail break from the Fade. Time to try and not die!

Hawke really hated the Fade.

Oh sure being a mage meant she had a scary affinity for it and the things skulking around in it but that didn’t mean she had to like it. All her previous experiences; of betrayal, self-satisfied demons, and creepy mages had been bad enough. This was ten thousand times worse.

Kit had managed to slice the belly of that great hulking nightmare of a demon wide open and before it tried to smother her in its entrails she had managed to roll out from under it. But by the time she was able to get around its still pulsating legs the Inquisitor had closed the rift and she was trapped. Alone. In the bloody fucking Fade.

On one hand she had volunteered to be the one who stayed, the one who died, but she was still alive. Funny how that wasn’t such a good thing under the circumstances. She was in fact the only living thing in this entire dimension, which was drawing some very unwanted attention. Also she was in all likelihood stuck here indefinitely to suffer for all eternity, or until she met a suitably violent end. Wonderful.

And Varric thought he had rotten luck.

She had been trying too hard not to think of him as she made a mad dash past where the rift had been over the crumbling stone work and down into a grotto ringed with caves. Her good bye note had probably been read and properly mourned over. She might as well be well and truly dead it seemed. If she was less of fighter she would be. Part of her hoped her friends realized this and came for her, even if it was a tiny minuscule ember of a hope.

Time had little to no meaning here, depending on how she moved it seemed to speed up or slow way down. The whole place had a dry acrid smell, much like the Bone Pit outside Kirkwall, and yet appeared to be dripping wet. Everything also glowed a sickly intense sort-of off green. It was less than fun to be here entirely on her own. Well it wasn’t great in a group either but at least she had people to bounce all of her bad dream related puns off of.

All in all a terrible place to be stuck for the rest of all blighted time. Well if she was unfortunate enough to live for that long.

Demon’s and Maker knew what else would be after her any time now. Oh probably also that huge, tentacle infested, aspect of fear once it recovered and became angry enough. If it couldn’t take its rage out on poor Lavellan then it was going to get her for sure. She was closer and more conveniently alone at any rate.

Hawke had been running for what seemed like several clicks and yet her surroundings looked the same, almost like she had been winding in tight little circles. For all she knew she had been standing in place the whole time. The Fade didn’t operate in any way she knew the real world to function. If she hadn’t been running for her life it might have given her a headache just to ponder it. The real kicker was that it would have felt safer for her if that spirit pretending to be the Divine had stuck around after the battle.

If it really was a spirit of faith or charity or something then wouldn’t it have wanted to continue to aid them, well just her now. Maybe it could have helped her find another way out. With as many rifts as there were around Thedas she could theoretically find one to pop out of. But who knew where it would be and what she would have to fight through to get out of it.

Because as skilled as she was she was only solid real life person in a landscape packed with unlimited magical beings bent on possessing her. So when she heard the tell tale clicks and clacks of spider legs she used what was left of her stamina to wind as deep into the caves as she could go.

Unfortunately no one knew if the Fade even worked like that as distance seemed to have the same amount of meaning as the passage of time, basically spotty at best. She wanted desperately to be somewhere safe, to catch her breath and think for a moment. Maybe not have all of the horrible things she had ever said and done flashing before her eyes. That’s what they meant when she said your whole life played back before you died. It wasn’t the love and smiles and the forgiveness that she was remembering right now. When all she really wanted was to be in The Hanged Man again playing Wicked Grace with everyone and drinking really bad ale.

At that thought the tunnel widened and as she turned a blind corner there was a brightly lit grove. It was still the strange pale color of the rest of the Fade and the light coming from above wasn’t from the swirling green sky. Instead a gently flickering golden orb bathed the entire area inside the winding grotto in shimmering sunlight. At the center of it was an island and growing tall and proud from it was a white sylvan tree.

She didn’t know if that meant it was better or worse than the rest of her surroundings, although it felt quieter here somehow. Peaceful. Maybe she had accidentally stumbled into the realm of some dreamer.

They were like little pockets throughout the landscape. Sometimes even more horrific that the regular terrain of the Fade. She briefly wondered if that was why things here looked the way they did, did people’s nightmares shape the way the Fade looked in its natural state? If this even was its natural state.

Hawke gingerly approached the massive shimmering tree. As she got closer she felt a light breeze emanating from it, it was cool and fresh and smelled more like actual forest air than whatever brimstone sludge she had been breathing since first coming here. The smell reminded her of their home in Lothering. That made her freeze and then carefully peer around the grooved trunk in front of her, craning her neck by degrees.

Leaning up against the opposite side of the tree was Bethany.

Or at least something that had taken Bethany’s form. Now was a good time to run. But her sister’s beautiful brown eyes looked up into her hazel ones and she couldn’t leave her. Even though she knew it wasn’t her. That it couldn’t be her.

  
All she knew for certain is that her entire family was dead. Her entire biological family was, her first family if you wanted to split hairs. Because as much as they fought like horny cats she would literally die for all of her companions. Even Anders. That should tell you all you needed to know about how deep her loyalty went. Varric was another matter entirely. If she was being honest with herself she would die for Varric and let some blood mage bring her back just so she could die for him again. Even after what happened with mother. That was how fucked she was in that regard. She knew it was deeply wrong but so was the rest of the world so who was really paying attention?

The family she had been born to had all left the mortal plain. As to where that left them she couldn’t actually say but she hoped, to the possibly real Maker, that it wasn’t to be trapped here in the Fade. This spirit looked exactly how Hawke remembered Bethany; not a day over 18 and wearing the same chainmail she had escaped Lothering in.

The spirit with her eyes, and the rest of her body, stood from its cross-legged position on the ground and smiled at Hawke. She couldn’t stop from returning the smile on her own lips even though she knew it wasn't really her.

“Well the Maker certainly has a sense of humor.”

Kit faltered. That was one of the last things that Bethany had ever said. A mere half of the sun dial’s turn and she was crushed to death defending their mother from an ogre.

Yeah the Maker had one twisted sense of humor.

The question now was just what did this spirit want from her? They always wanted something, her mind, her soul, her magic. Something equally creepy. Best to keep it talking long enough to inch away. And yet her feet didn’t want to obey. Hawke started to sweat.

“He might but it’s a shitty sense of humor.”

The spirit that looked like Bethany snorted at that.

“I’m dead. Believe me you’re preaching to the Chantry choir.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to look at her skeptically.

“You can’t possibly be Bethany. You’re just another spirit here trying to, well I dunno, do something awful and spirit-y to me.”

In an all too familiar gesture; Bethany rolled her eyes upwards and blew a strand of her black hair out of her eyes. It was like being stabbed right under her rib cage. Which was a feeling she had felt before as she had actually been stabbed there with a real life knife more than once. The spirit seemed to be ignoring her inner turmoil though.

“Remind me why I look up to you again?”

“You’re several fingers shorter than me to start with.”

Hawke said the response automatically without thinking. Bethany laughed like she always did and Hawke couldn’t help the aching sigh of a sound that came out of her mouth.

So this was why people became trapped here.

Maker she missed them. Father, Mother, Bethany, even Carver rest his ornery soul.

They had never gotten along and he had spent most of the time after he could talk picking fights with her or Bethany but she loved him too in his way. This was getting damn dangerous.

She had caught her breath, or whatever there was to catch in this place, and now it was time to leave. Her feet were once again under her control. Kit took a step back and started to turn away from her when Bethany stuck her hand out and grabbed her arm. Hawke let out a pained mumble.

The hand was warm and felt solid. That was just not playing fair.

“Let me go. I don’t belong here and you know it. Just let me go.”

That seemed to startle her because she did let her go, causing Hawke to stumble into the tree trunk. It was cold and strangely stone-like under her hands. She pressed her forehead to it and tried to ignore the spirit she could see crouching down next to her out of the corner of her eye.

“You know I never liked to argue with you big sis so I won’t but let me ask you this: do you really know where you belong now?”

It was like being struck with a thunderbolt disguised as a memory.

The light was warm, cast by multiple hearths, and the tavern, which looked vaguely like the Hanged Man, was full of laughter and excited chatter. She was sitting at the long center table with Varric by her side, together they were telling the gathered party about the time Isabela led them on a wild goat chase, literally, for what turned out to be a sack full of potatoes all “shaped” like the tome of Koslun. The aforementioned Rivaini sat there at the table petulantly drinking and glaring at them while Aveline and Donnic, Fenris, and Merrill laughed at their tale. Further down the table Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana seemed to be enjoying their drinks and the story as well. Spoons was at her feet under the table and his big wet nose nudged her ankle until she sighed mid sentence and reached down to scratch his huge head.

Varric didn’t miss a beat and picked up the story right where she had stopped. She smiled at him crookedly before taking the hand that had been scratching her mabari and sliding it high up on Varric’s thigh instead. For his part he didn’t stutter in telling the tale but their eyes did meet mischievously over the table. She would be making good on the sultry promise in that hand later tonight it seemed.

The whole vision happened in the blink of an eye and she knew. That was were she truly belonged. Surrounded by her companions who had become her family. Some of them in a more literal sense than others it seemed.

That was enough of answer for the spirit because she simply smiled at Hawke and stood once more before offering her a hand up. Kit reluctantly took it and as she helped her stand the spirit said.

“Alright then. Now that that’s settled lets see about us getting you out here.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Okay. What’s the catch then? There’s always a catch with you incorporeals.”

The spirit just smiled and shook her head.

“You’ve already paid whatever price you think I’d demand. I shouldn’t have to tell you that all we want for you now is to be happy without us. To continue a life that you enjoy and not to punish yourself for not being able to save everyone.”

Hawke stared at her completely bewildered. Bethany smirked and flicked her lightly in the shoulder.

“Also I want to see you two idiots get together and have tons of cute short babies.”

Hawke put on a scandalized face but inside she was grinning widely.

“Bethany!”

“What? Maker knows you both love each other enough. The problem is that both of you are too stubborn and protective to do anything about it. If she wasn’t in the same boat as me I would tell mother on you and she would make damn sure the two of you were married within a fortnight.”

Hawke burst out laughing and didn’t bother to stop herself from hugging Bethany tightly. She knew it wasn’t her, not really, but she said the words anyway.

“I love you. Tell mother and father, and yes even Carver, the same.”

Bethany pulled away from her embrace and smiled.

“Of course. But first I’m going to go find your friends so they can come and get you out of this mess. Is there anything I should say to them so they know you’re alright?”

Hawke told her about anniversary gift she had hid for Varric as Bethany laughed at her for it while shaking her head. When she turned to go her burnished brown skin started to shine and Bethany’s form melted away to show a beautiful glowing spirit, much like the Divine’s. Her voice was still Bethany’s when she spoke.

“Keep to the grotto for as long as you can. There is yet some safe ground for you here. The Nightmare seeks to run you down and if he finds you before your companions you must fight him once more.”

With that she vanished in a silvery flash leaving Hawke alone in the now eerily empty grove. The cool relaxing aura that had been washing over her was gone and she could once again feel the raw energy and jagged scrape of the Fade around her. It was time to move again.

She had no idea if the spirit would keep her word and actually find the Inquisitor but she had to hope otherwise all was lost.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The physical Fade had a strange landscape. Whenever she looked at it closely it made her wonder if it was made of bits and pieces of the world that had been transferred here when the Veil was first formed. Something, or someone had made the Veil and with it the physical realm of the Fade. Even if she had never learned her talents in a Circle tower she knew that much. That back in the time of the ancient elves magic and spirits roamed the earth during everyone’s waking hours instead of just when they closed their eyes.

Interestingly, from what Marethari told her about Feynriel’s gift, somniari were rare even in Arlathan. That dreamers who ascended to uthenera were essentially immortal and could dream in the Fade for thousands of years or indefinitely, drawing their life force from the energy there instead of from food and water. At least they could unless an outside force killed their sleeping bodies, which was what apparently happened when Arlathan fell to Tevinter. Angry servants who felt betrayed by their gods apparently slew their sleeping masters. Something about that didn’t quite make sense but so many things had been lost to time that they may never know the truth.

Hawke wasn’t a student of lore but she was heavily considering becoming one if she ever got out of this. The more she learned of the Fade the more beneficial it seemed to try and search out histories and secrets regarding it.

Also she had shit luck when it came to keeping her nose clean. If there was something shady happening she was going to have to find out what it was and how she could accidentally make it ten times worse.

A large outcropping of mountains rose in the blighted green mist of the skyline, shockingly there was no Black City hovering over them. It was a constant landmark in the dreaming Fade, always there but no matter how much you moved towards it it never became any closer. So seeing it missing was ominous.

While trying to forget what implications no Black City meant she wondered if the far off mountains represented the Vimmarks. If all else failed she could try and make an all out run for them in hopes of finding a place where the veil was thin, maybe even Sundermount, and tearing her way through. The thought was a last ditch plan. Not that it would even work. She wasn’t a spirit. Her solid form was trapped here as well as her soul. Hawke was concerned that without the Inquisitor there with her mark to shepherd them that she would end up either leaving her body or her soul behind in the Fade. Neither was preferable.

Her magic was still real here at least. That was both a blessing and curse. She didn’t dare use it except to defend herself because it would draw demons and spirits and Maker knew what else towards her. The thing she dreaded most was that it would help the Nightmare finally find and kill her. If it couldn’t exact it’s vengeance on the Inquisitor she was the next best thing for leagues. And she had a feeling that after the stunt they had pulled the creature would not make her death quick or painless.

The caverns fed into more still glass black water and as she waded through it she tried not to feel the something that brushed silkily up against her legs.

Hawke really fucking hated the Fade.

Whatever it had been didn’t latch on or try to bite her bits off so she wearily trudged on through the caves. Sleeping here was probably the worst idea ever so she kept upright and put one metal-clad boot in front of the other.

Her eyes had started to ache from staring at the same slick and shiny crags in the tunnels around her and yet no matter how dark it got she was still able to see. Almost like the darkness itself was luminous like the rest of Veil. It was not a comforting sensation.

Normally her armor and chainmail shirt were an easy weight but they were starting to drag her down. Even her iron stave, a pressure so familiar it might as well have been another arm, was starting to feel unwieldy and heavy.

She turned another blind corner and froze. A shape with way too many limbs was undulating in the glowing mist ahead. She started to back up carefully as it quickly rounded on her. All nine of its milky white eyes narrowing in on her.

“Shit.”

It was a heartbeat and a blink before it was chasing after her.

Her feet slapped the water as she tried to escape the oncoming major fear demon. Spiders with tentacles. Why did it have to be spiders with tentacles? She kept just ahead of its shrieking and clacking mandibles. Its enraged cry reverberating off the rock walls calling to its brethren to help it chase her down.

If this was going to be her last stand here she wanted to make it on flat open ground. Not bottlenecked in some dripping death cave. Almost as soon as she thought it the sickly burning light of the Veil split open in front of her forming a rift like the yawning mouth of a cave.

Hawke stumbled back from it as the fear demon reared and tried to bring its many corrupted limbs down straight into her chest. She heard the familiar click-thump of Bianca releasing a hail of arrows and let out a short bark of laughter before rolling out of the way of demon. The opaque black water closed over her head for a second before she bobbed up again and gasped.

The cave was illuminated by the sudden crackle of lightning as the Inquisitor struck at the major fear demon. A few of the minor fears that were starting to arrive. Hawke felt her own magic scream to life as a fire ball sprang up in between both her hands. She sent it tearing through the supercharged air at the demons. Their pained cries were the best thing she had heard in a long time.

“Hawke!”

She took that back. Varric calling her name was the best sound. Hands down. He won every prize for everything voice related in her book. She turned and called out to him.

“How nice of you to show up to my party! I was just about to start cooking.”

Taking her stave in her hands she twirled it fiercely, sending out a large burst of immolating red orange flames. Varric’s response was strained even though he was trying to joke along with her.

“Get your ass over here Hawke! We both know your cooking is some less than appetizing business.”

Her grin was positively maniacal as she finally let the magic she had been hoarding fly free and burn through the fears that had been hunting her.

“Awww and you told me the unburnt part of that nug kidney pie was half-way decent.”

That did get a tight laugh out of him and even though she couldn’t see him behind her she knew he was smiling with that roguish grin she loved.

“I was being polite. Although anything is better than grilled spider. Lets get out of here, now.”

Hawke called up a wall of flame to block off the oncoming fear demons and then she turned to run towards Varric’s voice. Just beyond him and the Inquisitor stood Morrigan, Dorian, and Solas. Hawke winked as she skidded to a stop in front of Varric.

“I thought you would never ask.”

He looked up at her like she was the best thing he had ever seen and smiled that exasperated smile that she had memorized long ago. Maker it was good to see him.

She licked her lips and noticed with interest as his startled eyes followed them. The Inquisitor let out a very large and un-elf like cough and they all turned to face her as she narrowed her big eyes.

“Morrigan how in the Void do we get out of here?”

Morrigan looked affronted and was about to say something when Dorian called out.

“They’re back and I think they might want more than a polite word with us!”

Hawke turned in time to see a seething wall of too many eyes and legs burst through the last vestiges of her wall of fire. The Inquisitor’s frame hunched up slightly and then she was bolting back down the cave in the opposite direction as the demons. Her voice echoed back at all of them.

“You two flirt later! We’ll magic as we go and now it is time to go.”

Hawke and the rest of them went tearing after her. Dorian cackled as he fought to catch up with Shi’an who was surprisingly fast.

“Sounds like an excellent plan to me!”

Morrigan and Solas looked like they thought they were getting too old for this shit but with Varric stumping along at the back with her Hawke didn’t care. She felt like she was home safe already.

This was what she had been missing.

Escaping near certain destruction while surrounded by a pack of reckless and put-upon friends. Solas surged ahead and caught Lavellan by the hand. They kept running hand in hand and Hawke watched as he leaned into her ear and told her something. She turned to look at Varric who smiled ruefully.

“Oh yeah. They’ve got it bad for each other but are both too stubborn to admit it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at that and smirked at him.

“They remind you of anyone else we know?”

If the glowing darkness had been absolute she would have missed it but since she could still see she noticed the flush of his cheeks under all that stubble.

“You know this isn’t how I pictured this going.”

She barked out a laugh at that as they all turned a corridor into a wider cave that looked like it was starting to open towards the swirling sky in the distance.

“Yes! I agree. I certainly thought there would be darkspawn.”

Varric looked confused for a second then shook his head before looking at her seriously.

“Not us dying. One, that is not happening right now, and two there is going to be a high dragon and the whole of the Orlesian Royal Army there when it does. Maybe also a Varterral depending on who’s telling the story. I meant admitting that I’m the kind of fool who falls in love with his best friend.”

Hawke’s smile was the brightest thing in the whole cave.

“Oh that. For that I always imagined there would be more Antivan brandy involved and a lot less clothes.”

Varric choked on a laugh and when he looked up at her his smile was a absolutely filthy.

“Now that I can arrange.”

Hawke was about to quip back at him when all of their party burst into the disorienting light of the Fade’s churning sky. Morrigan and Dorian whipped around and started to try and seal the cavernous opening they had just left with ice. While Solas and Lavellan looked like they were weaving something together in between their outstretched hands. Passing a thread of green energy back and forth like some sort ever expanding fisherman’s net. It got bigger and bigger until Hawke realized they were making a rift between the two of them.

But it looked less like a tear in the Veil and more like a ladder made of rungs leading back to their side of the Veil. Just then the ground started to shake and Hawke turned in time to throw up a barrier of spirit energy to reflect the wicked bolt of angry purple force that lashed out at them. The horrifyingly familiar rumble of the Nightmare’s voice reached them all at the same time.

“Did you honestly think you could trespass here in my domain once more and simply leave? Petty children playing at games they don’t understand.”

Another bolt of energy rained down and this time Dorian blocked Solas and Shi’an from being struck down. But without his help the swarm of spiders was overwhelming Morrigan.

With a high scream of pain that morphed into the angry caw of raven she launched herself towards the now open rift in front of Solas and Levallan. Morrigan was the first one through and then Solas was motioning desperately for the rest of them to follow.

The Nightmare let out a resonant howl and all of the fear demons came spilling out of cave past the shattered ice in a massive wave of skittering, pulsating, blighted bodies. Dorian went through followed by Solas. The Inquisitor cast a wall of fire in front of them trying to stem the tide but another bolt of powerful energy struck her and sent her flying through the portal. Varric called out in alarm as he watched her be thrown through the rift.

“Shi’an!”

Hawke took his shoulder and was about to shove both of them through when she felt a strange deep burning in the center of her chest. She looked down to see a bolt of spider acid eating a putrid oozing hole through her.

“Oh.”

Extremely pathetic last words for the Champion of Kirkwall but all of sudden she couldn’t take another breath. The last thing she remembered seeing was Varric’s wide horrified eyes as she fell through the rift on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! She's not dead but the drama must continue because I'm that guy. Let me know what you think of Hawke. Comments always appreciated but not demanded of course. 
> 
> I really like the idea of spirits taking the form of loved ones in order to comfort people in the Fade. Hence Bethany. It made me think critically of what kind of spirit would be attracted to Hawke and the Inquisitor. Hence Hawke gets charity (certainly not justice * cough Anders what were you thinking cough* but maybe also bravery/valor) and Lavellan gets a spirit of hope later. All part of the seven heavenly virtues if anyone is as familiar with them as the are the other list of seven from the episcopal poem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric learns the awful truth.

He hadn’t left her side the entire trip back to Skyhold. Dorian and Lavellan had had to hold him down and make him take a sleeping draught more than once. Which had been a fun and educational experience for everyone involved. Sparkler may have made more than one sly comment about dwarves’ impressive upper body strength. Even effectively knocked out he still insisted on sleeping sitting up in a chair next to her whenever they stopped. He was powerless to save her from whatever illness held her in her sleeping state but he would die before he let her weather it without him.

Morrigan and Solas had been purposefully obtuse about how bad it was this entire time which meant that it was really bad.

It was comfort that all of them, even the surly witch of the wilds, helped him sit with her whether it be in her tent while they camped or in the cart they were pulling back with her bundled up in it.

Solas showed him how to brush a mixture of water, elfroot, blood lotus, and honey over her lips every several hours. He couldn’t tell if it was working but at least she was still breathing. When he took her hand in his her skin was so papery as to be almost translucent. Which was what scared him the most because usually she was the color of wet earth. Hawke was dark and warm, her eyes were the fiery yellow of her namesake. When she was slinging magic or drunk off her tits they practically glowed like a hearth. She seemed more corpse than Champion now and seeing her like this was steadily eating away at what was left of his nerves. Her pulse was there but reedy.

It was like one of his tales, the sleeping princess dead to the world for a hundred years only to be awoken by blood magic or a dragon. Because Maker knew it wouldn’t be true loves kiss with Kathyrn.

When she didn't wake up after the first day Varric had made sure that the witch and Chuckles were watching over Hawke in the Fade. There were some benefits to traveling with a large group of mages it seemed. He couldn’t follow her into that place because dwarves didn’t dream but he would rather let Corypheus make a lute out of his intestines than let Kit go unprotected while she was like this.

Lavellan seemed particularly drained the ride back. He heard her and Solas murmuring outside Hawke’s tent angrily more than once. Varric didn’t know what was going on with those two but it absolutely wreaking havoc on Shi’an. He would have asked her about it if he had the energy. As it was every moment he was awake his energy and thoughts went into looking after Hawke however he could.

He talked to her almost non-stop, told her every story he could think of even if he knew she had already heard it, or lived it as the case may be. He fed her the honey mixture and water while gently rubbing her throat to make sure it went down and didn’t choke her. He wiped her face and arms with warm soapy cloths and changed her bedding when need be. And he held her hand through it all, even though it felt so small and limp in his large calloused one.

When they finally got back to Skyhold he couldn’t meet the pity that hung in everyone’s glances. She wasn’t dead yet. Why was everyone already mourning her a second time?

He kept telling himself that this was Hawke. Hawke who had led him out of the sodding Deeproads alive after Bartrand’s betrayal, who had defeated the Arishok in single combat, who had killed a high dragon in the Bone Pit and then turned around and helped Merrill defeat the Pride demon that was haunting her, and who killed Corypheus the first time around. Not to mention all the crap with Blondie, the Templars, and Knight Commander Meredith. Kathyrn was a legend, his legend. And sure she was only human but she was a pretty damn near indestructible one.

At least by his estimation, which he might begrudgingly admit was a little over-high. Varric knew in newly aching bones that a little spider bite wouldn’t be the death of her. That wasn’t how these kinds of stories ended. He had to keep telling himself that story, that _lie_. Because in his heart he knew that life was hardly like the tales he loved to make and read. That was the fun bit about them, they could be ten times better than real life. Bigger, and badder too to be sure, but the hero always got the girl or the boy, or whoever as they case may be, and they always lived happily everafter.

Sure he’d seen a few real life people come close to that, Aveline and Donnic were the first people to come to mind, but it was still hard. Kirkwall was under siege from that horrifically self-righteous prince of Starkhaven and Aveline was putting all her power into rebuffing him and still rebuilding the trust in the city that was lost when the templars failed all of Kirkwall. Okay sure the mages had lost any respect and goodwill they might have had in Kirkwall too, after Anders, but they didn’t have much to begin with what with being mages and all.

Yet as far as he could tell from her letters she still loved Donnic and they were thinking of maybe adopting some little ones. Varric let a quick grin ghost over his mouth as he thought of being an uncle. That was why he had written “Sword and Shields” about her. Because she was a real life success story. And maybe to tease her a little bit because he and Hawke might have been one upping each other to see who could annoy Aveline the most before they left. At this point Hawke was probably winning. Shit.

Whereas with Hawke's story, as much as he dreaded the possibility, it read more like the greatest of the Orlaisian operatic tragedies. Full of betrayal, the death of her entire family except Gamlen and Charade, her companions all but deserting her, and her eventual end sacrificing herself for the greater good and dying alone in the Fade.

But that last bit hadn’t happened.

She had survived and he had gone back for her with the Inquisitor. The very Herald of Andraste had risked her life to help Hawke so she couldn’t die yet. He wouldn’t fucking let her.

Vivienne eventually joined the lengthy list of mages who were now fretting over an unconscious Hawke. It had been over a week since they had left the Fade at Adamant and there had been no change in her condition. The others seemed to have plenty of business to keep them occupied but Varric felt frozen in time. As long as nothing changed with her his whole world had narrowed to the slow rise and fall of her chest.

For instance Bull and his chargers were still there pulling down the entire blighted fortress without them. Varric didn’t envy them even though there was nowhere else he could be right now.

Vivienne tried to shoo him out of Hawke’s room more than once while she used some sort of blue glowing healing spell on her but Varric refused to budge. She had simply huffed and rolled her eyes before continuing to rather pointedly examine Hawke’s limp form. After she left he scooted his low backed chair next to her bedside and started to read his latest tale out loud.

He had no idea if she could hear him in whatever state she was in but he wasn’t going to let her be trapped there alone. He newest story was about them.

Well it wasn’t an epic like “The Tale of the Champion” was but it was an adventure. About two friends who helped each other out when it counted but always seemed to be missing the mark when it came to love. He was thinking about calling it “The Two Fools,” it was a working title that he hoped to keep working on. It was as much to comfort him as her he supposed but that was what he did. Varric told stories as much for himself as he did the rest of the world.

He had just finished with chapter two when the Inquisitor came striding in purposefully with Vivienne and Solas hot on her heels. She looked livid and if she had been a less skilled mage Varric had no doubt lightning would be crackling around her clenched fists. Shi’an rounded on Solas and pointed at Hawke’s sleeping form.

“Wake her up then!”

Solas cringed at her tone and straightened up, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

“Morrigan and I rarely agree in the application of magic but in this case we both thought it was best she remain sleeping indefinitely.”

Varric sprang violently to his feet, scattering sheets of his writing everywhere in a crunching flurry of velum.

“Indefinitely!?”

They all turned to him and there was that look of pity he couldn’t stand. Except Lavellan. She looked dark and fierce like a boiling black thunderhead.

“Without consulting me, without consulting you, Solas and Morrigan decided to put Hawke into a deep magical sleep because they couldn’t find her spirit in the Fade. They thought it might be lost, separated from her body, they put her to sleep so they could find it and bring it back to her. But they obviously can’t find it so I proposed someone else give it a try.”

Varric wasn’t stupid but magic was not his area of expertise. Whatever was going on was not good though, not having a soul was decidedly bad. And from the way the Inquisitor was seething it was probably worse than anything he, a dwarf who had never truly dreamed, could imagine.

“But then when Vivienne was examining her as I asked she found that Hawke’s spirit was just fine inside her body. So I’m getting them to wake her up safely.”

Varric let out the breath he had been holding. Things were going to be okay after all. Carefully he looked everyone else there in their eyes. The looks on all the mage’s faces said the exact opposite, they each spoke of a grave and personal agony. Then the pieces clicked into place.

 _No._ Oh Maker no. Not that.

Solas’s face was a taught blank as he began to weave his hands heavily together in a spell to wake Hawke up. There was an acrid bitter taste in Varric’s mouth that must have been coming from the lump of his heart now lodged in his throat.

Every mage that he had talked to had said it was a fate worse than death. Maker he had seen Karl, Blondie’s old flame, come back from it for long enough to beg to be murdered instead. Everyone there had agreed that was for the best and they had killed the poor bastard.

And now Hawke, the funniest, wittiest, strongest, most beautiful person he had ever met had had all her emotions scooped out of her head.

He turned back in time to see Solas step away from her prone form, Hawke’s molten eyes fluttered open and his heart sank down his throat all the way to his boots. They were glassy and lacking the mischievous spark he had taken for granted up until now.

Burning bleeding Andraste it was true.

She sat up slowly and turned to him. When her eyes met his there was no emotion in them. She reached out and patted the side of his face gently.

“Varric? You seem distressed. Is something the matter?”

He didn’t need to look around to know that the tension in the room just rose three notches on whatever trebuchet Lavellan was operating. He tried to stop his voice from cracking as he gave her a watery smile.

“Nothing’s the matter now that you’re awake. How you feeling Hawke?”

She looked away from his face down at her hands.

“Adequate. How long was I asleep for may I ask?”

It was like talking to a bloody thesaurus. All of the information was there but none of the passion, none of the fire that made Hawke herself. This woman before him might look like Hawke, she might even have all of her memories, but she wasn’t his Kit any more.

Marker’s blighted breath she was truly gone this time.

It hit him like a sturdy kick to the gut and he rasped as he almost fell forward against the bed. Luckily Lavellan noticed his distress and swooped in to place a surprisingly sturdy arm across his shoulders.

“You have been out for almost a fortnight Hahren Hawke. I’m glad to hear that you are feeling better at least. All of us spent the last two weeks worrying over you after all, especially Varric here.”

He couldn’t look at her anymore. He needed to run, to be alone with his thoughts, to mourn her a second time. There was no coming back from a psychic beheading. This was what she would like from now until she died. And yet he still didn’t want her to. Even if she was forced to live this terrible trapped life he could never bring himself to end it for her. He was definitely that selfish.

Varric could feel Shi’an tense next to him as her hand tightened into a claw. She wasn’t going to let him run from seeing Hawke in this state. But why? Wouldn’t it be less cruel for everyone? Hawke’s deafeningly neutral voice addressed Lavellan directly now.

“Yes I am well now although it seems I have somehow been made Tranquil.”

The temperature in the room went from boiling to a strange and empty cold, like a mausoleum. Varric swallowed the bile in throat as Lavellan continued her careful conversation.

“We are not sure how that happened actually. Solas thinks that perhaps you might have died for a split second in the Fade and now your spirit is blocked from it. But as it stands now we are unsure. I am so sorry.”

Even though Lavellan knew Hawke no longer felt emotion there was still a deep compassion in her voice for her and it made his hand snake its way into Shi’an’s. She squeezed it back hard and he sighed in resignation. Hawke shook her head carefully at the sentiment.

“Do not be. Thanks are in order to you, and the rest of your companions, for saving me from the Fade. Being here and being Tranquil is much preferable to being there and being dead. As things are now I am alive and can still be of some use to the Inquisition. If it is alright with you Herald I would like to assist the Arcanist Dagna in the undercroft with her research now that I am back to normal functionality.”

The Inquisitor seemed taken aback for a second but speedily composed herself.

“Of course Hahren Hawke. You are welcome to use your unique talents to benefit the Inquisition in any way you see fit. I completely trust your judgment and I am happy to have you back with us.”

Lavellan was using the kind of language that a Tranquil could understand easily and respect. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t still so distraught. Hawke nodded and got up to stand and unselfconsciously make the motions to remove her blouse.

The room jolted into motion with everyone excusing themselves. The Inquisitor practically pushed him out the door and down the stairs out of Hawke’s quarters. He let her lead him while he followed unsteadily which seemed to worry her even more. When they made it back down to the main hall he noticed everyone was staring at them. Perfect. Well in a place like Skyhold you really couldn’t keep a secret, not a big one like this, and not for long.

Shi’an noticed his look of pain so she maneuvered both of them back behind the throne to the door that led to her quarters. He followed her numbly up the stairs and when they got to her room at the top she sat down heavily on her couch and gestured for him to sit next to her.

“Look I really don’t want to talk. To be honest I just want to take Bianca down to the archery range and shoot every dummy there full of two hundred holes. And then maybe light them on fire, we’ll see how the holes make me feel.”

Shi’an nodded and held up a hand for him to stop talking.

“I understand. You are welcome to go and do just that but I wanted to apologize to you first.”

That surprised him. If anybody had some amends to make it was him. Because damn was he sorry for so many things and every time he looked at Hawke’s vacant face from now on he would be reminded of what every single one of them were. Taking note of his shock she continued.

“I should have been paying more attention to her condition myself but instead I allowed Morrigan and Solas to lie to all of us about the true nature of what happened to your...to Kathryn. And for that I am deeply sorry. Also I am sorry for the loss of the friend you know.”

There really wasn’t much to say after that. He understood why Chuckles and the witch had kept Hawke being Tranquil from them. He wasn’t mad at them for that, he was more upset that there was nothing those two great and powerful mages could do to heal her now.  
When Varric got up to leave he felt Lavellan’s small hand on his shoulder once more.

“Don’t be a stranger after this Varric. Grieve as you see fit but know we are here for you as well. Believe me, I know first harnd no amount of longing will bring them back. The only true path for an arrow is forward. Dareth shiral, suledin lath su’vunin.”

Instead of pity he saw pain, raw and deep, and empathy in her face. A sudden jolt of memory hit him, her entire clan had been murdered after they had moved to Skyhold.

Lavellan was like Hawke in many ways and yet still such a mystery to him. He had hung around enough with Daisy to know what the first bit of Elvish meant but it was the last part that puzzled him. To be honest he could use the distraction of picking up some more Elvish words. Anything would do as a distraction at this point.

Varric did eventually make it to the archery range. Everyone else, all of the agents and recruits fled as he approached, but the Seeker stayed. Even though she had been furious with him for keeping Hawke from her she now seemed somewhat less angry with him. Maybe even cordial on the right day, if the sun was in the right position in the sky and the weather was fair.

So he didn’t care as she watched him demolish dozens of straw men. Cassandra didn’t say a word either. Somehow they both knew that one of their tempers would ruin it if they did. So when he was finished, drenched in sweat and covered in bits of hay she simply nodded and walked back with him to the Keep in silence.

The next couple days were like that.

The others kept coming forward to try and offer him some kind of comfort. Sparkler and Tiny kept inviting him to play games of diamondback and wicked grace. He listlessly turned them down. Cullen even asked if Varric would come hand his ass to him in chess again. Varric simply told him another time, or maybe later. Sera left him a suspicious looking piece of pie on his writing desk with a smiling face drawn in heavy whipping cream on it. Against his better judgment he ate it and found that it was actually pretty good even if it was made out of yams.

Solas invited him on one his herb hunting walks into the Frostbacks but he declined that as well, but not for the same reason as the others. He didn’t really want to spend his day ass deep in snow even if Solas did have some pretty interesting stories. Whenever Lavellan asked him to come out with her and the rest of the party though he went. Missions to the Emerald Graves and the Exalted Plains helped him forget exactly who was haunting the halls of Skyhold now.

He had seen glimpses of her around the castle and each one was like slipping and stepping on a shard of glass. She looked like Hawke but she wasn’t. Not anymore. And she would never be again. Stuck forever inside a body that no longer responded to her spirit, screaming on the inside. Varric shivered at the thought. She was still alive.

Maybe it was that bad, maybe it wasn’t, all he knew was that she was still here. He could see her out of the corner of his eye and forget anything had changed. That hurt was his burden. Everything always changed for him and for her. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except things kept changing for the worse. That was the real problem here.

At least that was the one he could look full in the face right now. The other one had listless yellow eyes that lacked the laughter he longed to hear just one more time. That was a problem he couldn’t bear to put an arrow or a quill to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. The next chapter will hurt less I promise. The elvish Lavellan says to Varric basically means that she hopes he goes in peace and can rise again to find love in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING. Ack. Okay the next chapter we get Hawke still being a alive so that's good but man did this hurt to write. So far this is 14k and it's probably going to end up being another 5 or 6k. I basically wrote a Hawke/Varric big bang. Oops.


End file.
